


Catch Me

by EdgarAllenPoet



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Batman #50, Brotherly Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt, Protective Dick Grayson, Suicide Attempt, The wedding, Wedding Issue Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 11:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15412209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: Bruce jumped, and Dick leapt, shooting out a grappling hook as an afterthought and hurtling through the night sky in a beeline.When he was little, he and Batman would play a game.  Dick had always loved the feeling of falling, the way his heart stopped and his blood soared.  The way he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Batman would be there to catch him.





	Catch Me

**Author's Note:**

> The Wedding Issue left me with a lot of feelings.

When Robin was little, he and Batman would play a game.  During a slow night on patrol or when he was riled up from training, any time he was too bored or too energized or Batman seemed a little too sad, he’d climb up somewhere high and leap.  “Trust fall!” he’d cheer, a phrase he’d learned from an after school program Alfred had let him watch.

  


Bruce would scramble to catch him, nearly tripping over himself and taking Dick’s head off once they were both safely on the ground.  But Robin never took the scolding too seriously. He didn’t take it seriously either when Batman would groan that Robin was getting heavy, and that one of these days he wouldn’t be able to catch him. 

  


Dick never believed him, because Bruce hadn’t failed him yet.  Dick loved the feeling of free falling, but more than that, he loved knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone would catch him and keep him safe. 

  


After everything it was liberating, to find joy in falling, to have trust, to know everything would be okay. 

  
  


\--------

  
  


Maybe Bruce was right.  Dick didn’t realize until that fateful night that perhaps Batman hadn’t been pulling his chain all of those years, that maybe Robin would one day get too big to catch.  All Dick knew was that it was hell on his body pulling off the stunt that he had, but that he hadn’t had a choice. Whether Bruce knew it or not, his trust was in Dick, and Dick adamantly refused to let him down.

  


For better or for worse… perhaps that wasn’t the best phrasing, considering the circumstances that surrounded this whole mess.  However, regardless of falling outs, both physical and emotional, they were family, and Dick liked to believe that meant something. 

  
  
  


\--------

  


The manor was quiet that night, the expensive hallway carpet swallowing any noise that escaped the solemn and silent house guests, the arching ceilings hiding ghosts in the shadows of the tastefully dark wood.  Four young men sat on the floor, backs against walls and eyes on the floor. 

  


Jason had a leg kicked out, and he was tall enough that he nearly reached Dick where his own were extended.  It amazed Dick every day how much he’d grown, how much he’d  _ changed _ , that he was back at all, if only for small moments like these. 

  


Tragedies.  Family emergencies.  The occasional holiday dinner, because Jason’s only soft spot was Alfred, and Alfred made it clear how disappointed he would be without Jason’s attendance.  

  


Jason was towering now, taller than Bruce, and built wide like a bull.  Looking back at the scrawny child who’s socks would never stay up properly- who drowned in every article of clothing he wore, too gangly and too tiny at the same time -Dick never would have guessed he’d grow into the man who sat before him. 

  


The anger, though.  The silent, simmering anger in the shadows of his downcast eyes and the white knuckles of his clenched fists.  That was the same. Dick had never learned not to fear it. 

  


Tim was nearly asleep where he sat, eyes glazed over and vacant.  He’d perfected the art of sleeping upright long ago, eyes open and mind static.  It was one of the reasons he’d left school so early. One of the reasons he’d kept out of trouble while he’d been there.

  


Man, Alfred had a right fit when he’d learned about that, but it paled in comparison to Bruce’s response to the news.  He’d always pushed the importance of education. He’d wanted them all to go to college and beyond, and Tim had held the most potential of all of them (besides Jason… before the… anyways), so his GED had not been taken lightly in the Wayne household.  

  


Made it feel more like a family, though, even in the hellfire. 

  


If they were at each other’s throats, at least they were talking.  Dick was glad they’d outgrown that, grown closer.

  


Damian was actually asleep, sagging against Dick’s side in a symbol of trust he’d only started exhibiting in the past few months.  Dick kept himself still, let the boy sleep. Dick didn’t care what he’d seen or how he’d been raised, Damian was too young to have to deal with the psychological turmoil that accompanied their present situation.

  


That, and he’d stayed up late with Selina the night prior.  He needed his rest. 

  


They’d all stayed up late the night prior.  Dick hadn’t slept well after the incident with Hush and the talk with Bruce afterwards.  He’d given up trying at some point, hadn’t slept since. He’d figured he could get decently wasted at the wedding reception and sleep like a rock afterwards, but that was before….

  


Well….

  


“What do you think he’s doing in there?” Jason asked eventually, shattering the silence around them. 

  


This wasn’t the first time they’d gathered like this, silent and craving company, lurking outside of closed doors like eavesdropping children locked out of a dinner party.  Usually Alfred was inside, though, stitching somebody back together and taking x-rays. This wasn’t a batcave door, though, and Alfred was nowhere to be found. 

  


He’d needed space after what happened.  Dick understood that. He’d stuck by long enough to assure that Dick’s injuries could wait until morning, so long as he ‘take care, Master Richard, and try not to aggravate anything.’  

  


Well things were aggravated in the hallway, tense like a bow string and frozen in silence, cold enough that one ill-placed word might shatter them.  Dick sucked in a long breath and blew it out through his nose, counting with the exhale. 

  


“Nothing good,” Tim answered, voice hallow as if he’d woken up just to say those words before dropping back off again.  Dick would be worried about him if he wasn’t numb all over. His head was clouded. It was a miracle he wasn’t comatose or screaming, given the circumstances.  

  


“I’ll check on him,” Dick said, claiming the responsibility as eldest and dealing with things the way he’d become accustomed to with Bruce.  He’d known him the longest, and he could get away with things the others couldn’t. Bruce had quite literally raised him, and while everyone else only knew Bruce as middle aged and serious and made of stone (except Jason, though everyone knew he did his best to shut out the memories he had left), Dick had known him when he was young and bumbling and just trying his best. 

  


It made him feel better on his worst days, when he was struggling with work or patrol or Damian, to remember that Bruce had been his age and handling all of this too.  It made him feel calmer, more level headed. Gave him a bit of hope. 

  


They really could use a bit of hope just then.  Dick carefully nudged Damian off of his arm, laid him down sideways and paused a moment to make sure he was settled.  Damian snuffled quietly in his sleep and curled up, and Dick was amazed that he didn’t leap awake in an instant. 

  


They’d made so much damn progress. 

  


He’d almost expected the door to be locked, but it opened when he pushed the handle.  He glanced back at his brothers, found two sets of eyes staring up at him, and shrugged.  He poked his head in first, tip toes following silently after. 

  


Bruce was sitting up in a chair by the window, staring out and not moving.  He didn’t say anything when Dick stepped inside, though he had to notice. Bruce noticed everything. 

  


Dick shut the door behind him, letting the latch click quietly to announce his presence.  With still no reply from Bruce, he crept across the room on cat feet and approached Bruce’s side.  Peeking around he found his eyes open, expression blank, face lined with exhaustion. 

  


“B…” he said gently.  “You doing okay…?” 

  


Bruce did not humor him with a response, and yeah.  Dick knew it was a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t. 

  


At least he hadn’t been physically injured.  Dick’s ankle screamed at him with every step, enough so that he was setting his weight on the blade instead of stepping normally, and his shoulder burned in a way that suggested some sort of damage.  Bruce was fine though, regardless of intentions, and that had been Dick’s goal. 

  


Who was he kidding?  Dick hadn’t gone in with a goal.  He’d gone in blind, hoping for the best and terrified.  He didn’t like feeling scared. He was pissed at Bruce for doing this to him. 

  


Scarier than the evening had been, though, was Bruce’s absolute silence.  Dick reached out to touch his shoulder but hesitated a few inches away. Bruce blinked once, slowly, and Dick noticed a sheen come across over his eyes. 

  


It broke him.  Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the emotion of the past few days, or maybe it was seeing his father figure crumbling in a way he’d never witnessed before, not even with Jason.  

  


Maybe it was residual trauma from Bruce’s death, from thinking he was really gone for all those months.  Maybe almost losing him again had really shook him, knowing he’d failed to pick up the slack the first time, knowing he wasn’t ready to try it again.

  


Either way, Dick didn’t lay a hand on his shoulder.  He fell to his knees at Bruce’s side, dropping his head against Bruce’s arm and clutching onto his pant leg with one lose hand curled around his knee.  Like he was a little boy again. Like he’d ruined something- or was falling apart- and he could only turn to Bruce to fix it for him. 

  


Bruce couldn’t fix this.  Not after he’d broken it in the first place. 

  


Dick hated himself for the tears welling in his eyes, but he couldn’t help but sniff, not wanting snot to run down his face and make a right mess of him. His breath came out stuttered, and he pressed his head tighter against Bruce’s arm, looking for  _ something _ , some kind of acknowledgment or response that everything would be okay. 

  


And then Bruce shifted, and he picked up one arm, and a warm hand settled on the back of Dick’s neck.  He stayed silent and otherwise unmoving, but the hand was a welcomed comfort against the cold of the hallway.  Dick couldn’t hold back the tears spilling over the brim of his eyes, and he let himself clutch tighter, gave himself a few seconds of hot tears before pulling it back together and turning back into a grown up. 

  


He had to keep it together.  If Bruce wasn’t going to, Dick had to pick up the slack.  He wished this wasn’t something he was used to.

  


He wiped his eyes on the backs of his hands and sniffed hard enough to get his breathing back in order, struggling to his feet and fighting against the pain that bloomed anew in his body. 

  


“Come on,” he choked out.  “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” 

  


Bruce said nothing, just rose silently and walked to the california king against the center wall.  He sat on the edge of it and failed to go any further. Dick made his way over and fulfilled his role of caretaker, something he’d gotten quite comfortable in over the years.

  


He took away Bruce’s jacket and tie, working with nimble fingers.  He undid the top two buttons of Bruce’s dress shirt, then knelt at his feet to help remove his shoes.  In any other circumstance Bruce would never ask him to do something like this. But Bruce wasn’t himself at the moment.  Bruce, as himself, would never do what he’d almost gotten away with that night. 

  


Shoes aside, Dick pulled back the blanket and motioned for Bruce to get in.  He did, and Dick turned to go. 

  


But then a hand caught his wrist, and gentle as it was, the pressure pulled against his injured shoulder and he barely suppressed a wince.  He didn’t look back, held still. 

  


Bruce’s voice was almost too quiet to hear through the thick fog of silence.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Dick shook his wrist free, walked briskly across the room, and left.  He took a deep breath as he stepped back through the door. 

  


Someone had to hold it together.  If Bruce couldn’t, he would. Batman was the rock of gotham, and well.  Dick had been experience being Batman. 

  
  
  


\-------

  
  


“So you’re the Batman now, huh?” 

  


Dick dropped the criminal at his feet and tipped his head back, forcing himself to deep, measured breaths through his nose.  The night air was cool, and there was sweat beading at his temples. His heart hammered. His throat felt thick. He had to get a handle on himself. 

  


“Yeah, well,” Dick answered, not turning around to look at Superman.  “Somebody has to be.” 

  


He knew he wasn’t acting right.  Knew that it was just a giant red flag for Clark to use against him.  He’d always been like that, been responsible and held Dick accountable for things.  While Alfred had done his best, there were things Bruce hadn’t gotten that Clark had, his cornfed parents giving him the kind of wholesome, all-american childhood the rest of them had missed out on. 

  


Clark wanted to make up for any sort of life lesson Bruce might have forgotten to teach.  Afterall, it was Clark who talked him through his first break-up, who had showed him basic skills like starting fires and doing laundry during a visit to the homestead.  He was ‘Uncle Clark’ for a reason, and he hadn’t been shy about giving Dick his ‘becoming a man’ speech. He wouldn’t be shy about giving advice for this either. 

  


Dick just wasn’t sure he was in the mood to hear it. 

  


Clark didn’t get to be concerned for Dick’s well-being when Dick didn’t have any other options.  

  


“You’re a little rougher tonight than usual,” Superman said, and Dick had to close his eyes when he felt the air move next to him, heard the gentle crunch of gravel as Clark landed next to him.  He opened his eyes after swallowing his nerves and looked down at the man painted in blood beneath him. 

  


Yeah, maybe he was. 

  


“I don’t need a lecture right now,” he said through clenched teeth, scared of where his temper would take him if he gave up any control. 

  


A silence followed, not unlike the ones he shared with Bruce lately, in the rare occasion he was around.  He’d left that morning, claiming jury duty, though Dick wasn’t sure he believed him. He had the whole family gathered in the manor for the first time since Christmas, and Bruce was nowhere to be found. 

  


Eventually Clark spoke, and while Dick steeled himself at first, the words surprised him. 

  


“How about a hug instead?” Clark asked, and Dick’s throat seized up on him, air running away.

  


“I… I don’t need… I’m not a little kid anymore….” He swallowed, glanced over, found two arms being held out to him and Dick didn’t have the willpower to resist anymore.  He stepped into it, forgetting how strange it must look to have Batman clutching onto Superman like his life depended on it on a Gotham rooftop.

  


“It’s going to be okay,” Clark said, one large hand holding the back of Dick’s head and keeping him tucked close, keeping him safe.  Dick timed their breathing, gave up trying to control himself and let Clark take care of him. Just for a little while. Just for now. 

  


“It’s going to be okay.” 

  


\-------

  
  


“He’s going to be okay,” Dick said, stepping into the hallway and shutting the door behind him.  He looked down and found Cass in his place, Damian’s head against her knee, Jason’s jacket tucked over him. He rubbed a hand over his face, felt his callouses scratch against his cheeks, stubble scratch at his palm.  He needed a shower and a shave and a valium. 

  


“No shit,” Jason said.  He’d sagged, was slouching so far down that only the back of his head was still propped up by the wall, the rest of him flat against the floor.  Tim had procured his phone from somewhere and was tapping idly at the screen, blue lights painting him gaunt. “Bruce is always okay.” 

  


Tim said, “Good,” and then, “Someone should tell Alfred.” 

  


“Let him rest,” Dick said, easing himself down onto the floor next to Cass, sighing with relief with the weight off his injured ankle.  “He’s had a long night.” 

  


He closed his eyes a moment, dropped his head back against the wall.  When he opened them again, he had all three of them staring at him meaningfully.

  


“What happened to you?” Jason asked.  Tim dropped his eyes back to his phone.  Dick sighed. 

  


“What?” Jason asked, reaching over and shoving at Tim’s shoulder.  “What do you know? Spill, replacement.” 

  


“Guys-” 

  


“You never get hurt on patrol these days,” Jason continued, plowing forward.  “We haven’t had anything worse than petty crime for weeks. What’d you do, fall down the stairs?” 

  


“Tripped on the treadmill,” Dick deadpanned.

  


Cass leaned in close to him.  “Lying.” 

  


“Is it broken?” Jason asked, and Cass reached down and jabbed at Dick’s sore ankle with her thumb, somehow hitting right in the worst spot.  Dick swallowed a gasp but failed at controlling his wince. Jason gaped at him. 

  


“So everyone’s falling apart then?” he asked. “Alfred’s missing in action, you’re out of commission, and Bruce is on radio silence.  What the hell is his problem anyways? Pre-wedding jitters? You next, Timbo? Got a nervous breakdown coming on?” 

  


“Could you lay off?” Tim hissed. 

  


“I’m in the mood to swallow my gun,” Jason continued.  “Cass gonna catch tuberculosis? Brat bat gonna go awol again?” 

  


“You’re going to wake Damian,” Dick said, not even having it in him to feel defensive.  

  


“Don’t talk like that around Dick,” Tim scolded, and Dick dropped his face back into his hands. 

  


“Oh, I’m sorry.  Little Dickie can’t handle a bit of sarcasm?” 

  


“It’s late,” Dick interrupted, “Let’s just go to bed.” 

  


“Dick’s the one who had to catch him, you asshole,” Tim snapped, reaching over and shoving Jason back.  “So ix-nay on the suicide jokes, if you don’t mind.” 

  


The silence that settled after Tim’s last word was suffocating.  Jason stared at him, slack jawed, and after a moment of nothing but fiery glares from Tim, he turned to his gaze to Dick.  Dick looked down, couldn’t meet it. Cass’s stare was punishing next to him.

  


“You’re serious?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at Tim. “Bruce?” 

  


“I thought you were fucking joking,” Jason whispered, eyes never leaving Dick.  Dick could feel them boaring into him. He kept his head down. 

  


“Don’t say anything around Damian,” He murmured.  Lil’ D was a smart kid, smarter than any of them sometimes.  He’d figure it out soon enough, but Dick wanted to spare him as long as he could. 

  


That was the wrong thing to say, though.  It sent Jason over the edge. He stood abruptly, movements harsh in what had been calm all night.  He reached around, dug a gun out of the holster at the small of his back, and slammed open the door to the master bedroom.  Tim dropped his phone and leapt to his feet, Dick clambering up after him. Damian jerked awake. 

  


“Get him out of here,” Dick barked to Cassandra, who made quick work of subduing the now less-than-calm teenager. 

  


“What is the meaning- Get your hands off of me!  Let me-” A quick pinch to the trapezius had Damian crumpling in her arms, and Dick didn’t waste another second before following Jason through the door.  He was more than certain Cass could handle herself.

  


“You son of a  _ bitch _ !” Jason barked as Dick walked through the door.  He had two guns out, one trained on Tim, keeping him out of reach and away from intervening.  The other was pointed at Bruce, who was sitting up in bed and staring calmly down the barrel, which shook ever so slightly in Jason’s grasp.  His face was red and his jaw was clenched, meanwhile Bruce looked as serene as he did sipping his morning coffee. 

  


“You can’t do this shit,” Jason continued, voice spitting venom. 

  


“Jay-”

  


“Stay the hell away from me, Grayson,” Jason all but shouted, and Dick stepped, back, leaned against the door until his back was pressed flat and the door was shut behind him.  He wasn’t scared, just tired. He wondered how long it would take for Jason to wind himself back down. 

  


“You can’t do this shit,” Jason repeated, speaking straight at Bruce.  “You can’t. You’re not this weak. You’ve been through decades of this bullshit, and  _ this _ is what you’ll let defeat you?  Some woman? So she’s gone, Bruce.  So fucking what. You don’t need her.  You don’t need that… that… you don’t need  _ her _ if she doesn’t want to stay.  You can’t let  _ her _ break you.  You have a family, you son of a bitch.  You have a child.

  


“He’s thirteen!  Thirteen fucking years old, and you’re his God damn father! You  _ know _ what it feels like to lose someone.  You fucking  _ know _ .  How… how  _ dare you _ do that to somebody else.  You were just willing to… to fucking… to  _ abandon  _ him.  To just play into the fucking cycle.

  


“You’re a shit father, but you’re  _ his _ father.  Don’t make that boy an orphan just ‘cause you’re not strong enough to be a man.  You can’t. You. This is fucking  _ bullshit _ .” 

  


“Jay….” Dick tried again.  The gun that was pointed at Tim wavered and dropped to Jason’s side.  Dick waited a second, counted three breaths, and then hastened forward.  He wouldn’t put it past Jason to raise the gun and shoot him through the shoulder.  They’d moved past that, sure, but this family was nothing if not prone to relapse. 

  


Jason let Dick take the gun from him, pass it to Tim who engaged the safety and tucked it away silently. 

  


“Threw yourself off a God damn building,” Jason muttered, voice breathy and broken.  A tremor ran threw him. Dick reached out and took the other gun, made quick work of slipping it away to Tim.  “You’re supposed to be better than this.” 

  


“Come on, Li’l Wing,” Dick murmured, taking Jason’s arm and tugging.  “You got your point across, it’s alright. Let’s get you outta here.” 

  


They took a step, and then Jason shook his arm off and stormed out the door.  He left Bruce’s bedroom door wide open, and a few moments of thundering footsteps later, they heard the front door slam in his wake.  The security system beeped at him, letting them know he had gone. Dick stared blankly at the door, turned and glanced at Tim. 

  


Tim looked so fucking tired, far younger than he usually did.  All skin and bone, wiry muscle hidden under oversized clothing, eyes bruised and cheeks sunken.  His hair was stringy and hanging in his eyes, weeks past a necessary haircut. He stood there, looking all of fifteen and holding a gun at his side like it weighed thirty pounds. 

  


Dick couldn’t make himself look at Bruce, see that vacant expression and shell of a man in place of the Dark Knight of Gotham.  He turned his eyes to the floor instead. 

  


“Come on,” he whispered, jerking his head towards the door and waiting for Tim to trudge into the hallway before following after him.  

  


He shut the door, and Tim sighed heavily.  He stooped down, picked his phone up and slid it into his pocket.  “I’ll take these to the cave,” he said. “Promise not to do anything stupid.” 

  


It was meant to be a joke, according to the upward tilt of his mouth corner.  Dick couldn’t quite manage a grin in response. 

  


“Okay,” he said. 

  


“Get some sleep,” Tim added.  “It’s like Alfred says. Problems look smaller in the morning.” 

  
  


\-------

  
  


It had been mid-afternoon when Tim called him, and while Dick had been rather preoccupied with a well-deserved nap, he’d answered out of curiosity alone.  “Tiny Tim!” he’d cheered into the speaker, forcing chipperness with the last bit of energy he had in him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

  


“Something’s up with Bruce,” Tim said, and Dick was immediately on his feet and wide awake. 

  


“What do you mean ‘something’?” 

  


“At first I thought it was nothing, but he’s sneaking around.  Getting dressed up, acting all frantic. Alfred is with him.” 

  


“What are they doing?” 

  


Tim didn’t answer verbally, which meant he’d shrugged.  Dick chewed the inside of his cheek, went over a mental list of possibilities.  

  


“You’re in the manor?” he asked, and could practically hear Tim nod. 

  


“In the cave.” 

  


“They don’t know you’re there.” 

  


“Nope.  Fell asleep in the bunks last night.  No one else is home, and I don’t think they know I’m here either.  They’re not exactly being sneaky.” 

  


“But they’re in a hurry.” 

  


“Bruce has spent all day carrying around a piece of paper.  I’ve been trying to zoom in and get a look at what he’s reading.”

  


“And?”

  


“It’s handwritten.  Really swirly-like. Hard to get a good eye on.” 

  


“Think it’s important?”

  


“He’s read it a couple dozen times,” Tim reported.  Dick opened his fridge and looked through it. He found nothing but a jar of olives, but he wasn’t hungry anyways.  He kicked it closed and hopped up to sit on the counter. 

  


“I’ll head over, track them if they leave,” he said, making his mind up.  “You stay there and keep eyes on it. Let me know if anything changes.”

  


“I’m getting O in on this feed,” Tim said.  “She’s better at this shit. Might see something I’m not.” 

  


“Perfect.  Keep me updated.” 

  


“Roger.” 

  


Dick dropped his phone on the counter and made quick work of kicking his jeans off, changing into his suit.  He wondered if Bruce ever regretted teaching them, knowing that they’d use his own skills against him when it came down to it.  He wondered what kind of family it made them to run surveillance on each other. 

  


He also wondered what was going on if Alfred was in on it, wondered if it had anything to do with the wedding.  When he returned to his cellphone, he had several grainy photos taken of the surveillance screens in the batcave.  He could barely make out images of Bruce getting dressed, of Alfred standing close and fastening his tie. 

  


Bruce knew how to tie his own ties.  He’d taught Dick how, as well as the rest of them, probably.  Except for Tim, who’d come to them well-groomed and not quite as lost as everyone else had been.  

  


‘Wedding tux?’ a text from Tim read, and Dick slipped his phone away, pulled his domino on.  

  


He was halfway to the manor on his bike when Barbara’s voice fed through his ear piece.  “They’re going to the building they met on,” she told him, and Dick wrinkled his nose up, slowed enough to pull a u-turn on the desolate road and made his way back towards Gotham. 

  


“Where’s that?” 

  


“We’ve got a tracker on them,” she said just as the screen on Dick’s bike blinked to life.  

  


“Got it,” he answered.  “Thank you kindly.” 

  


“Over and out.” 

  


Dick kept his distance and followed the dot through the ceiling, parking his bike once they stilled and creeping carefully towards their location.  He found a nice rooftop across the way to lurk on, tucked himself away out of site and kept eyes on the situation. 

  


“It’s a letter from Cat,” Tim said in his ear, avoiding names over the comms.  

  


“A letter?” Dick asked, watching Bruce pace.  They had someone with them, someone Dick didn’t recognize.  He was older, fat, wasn’t moving with a whole lot of energy. Dick watched them for another twenty-three minutes before Tim spoke up again. 

  


“You know, Bruce was working on something all day.  I think it was his wedding vows.” 

  


“They pushing the wedding ahead?” Dick asked, already knowing the answer.  “But where’s the Cat?”

  


“Working on that.” 

  


Another hour or so, and while Dick was used to stake outs like this, his joints were starting to go stiff from exhaustion.  He was dying to stretch, but there was no way to do so without being detected. He leaned one way, cracked his neck, and let a quiet moan slip his lips. 

  


“There’s something off about this letter from Cat,” Tim said, prompted by Dick’s sound.  Dick hummed, interested. Tim made a disgruntled noise on the other end. “I don’t know. Some of it’s clear now, O is working on it, but it doesn’t read like wedding vows.” 

  


Dick half-listened, focusing more of his attention at his targets across the way. Bruce was moving again, pacing more erratically than before.  They were all starting to look anxious. Dick narrowed his eyes. 

  


“What’s it read like?” he asked, moving a bit closer, watching Bruce with a hawk’s gaze. 

  


“I don’t know,” Tim muttered.  “I… Nightwing, you’re not going to like this.” 

  


Something about the way Bruce was moving was setting alarm bells off in Dick’s head.  He barely heard Tim as he watched Bruce pace, heard the cadence of his voice without words while he argued with Alfred. 

  


“I don’t think they’re getting married tonight,” Tim said.

  


“ _ Master Bruce?” _ Dick made out Alfred’s words loud and clear as he watched Bruce stalk away from him.  Dick’s hair stood up on end. He straightened a bit, going stiff all over. 

  


“Cat’s not coming tonight,” Tim said through the comm, and Dick ignored him, creeping closer to the edge of his own rooftop as Bruce stood on his own. 

  


“ _ Master Bruce!?” _ Alfred said, something in his voice that Dick had never heard before.  He crept closer, not wanting to be detected, not wanting to keep his distance.  Something wasn’t right here. It was almost like- 

  


“I think this is a suicide note,” Tim said. 

  


Bruce jumped.

  


“ _ Master Bruce!!!”  _

  


Dick leapt, shooting out a grappling hook as an afterthought and hurtling through the night sky in a beeline. 

  


When Nightwing was little, he and Batman would play a game.  Dick had always loved the feeling of falling, the way his heart stopped and his blood soared.  The way he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Batman would be there to catch him.

  


Maybe Bruce was right.  Dick didn’t realize until Bruce hit him like a ton of bricks that maybe he would one day get too big to catch.  That one day his support system wouldn’t be quite as strong as he’d remembered it. 

  


All he knew was that it took everything he had in him to keep a hold of both the tether and his father, desperately trying not to drop the both of them, hand slipping on the coarse wire that barely slowed them down as they plummeted.

  


They made a sharp arc through the air, and Dick held tight until they were only a story away before his arm gave out.  His grip slipped with a cry and they were free-falling. 

  


He’d fallen like this before, with adrenaline and fear pumping through him, half-convinced by the trauma of the night that this would be the time they didn’t make it.  That they would hit the pavement and wouldn’t bounce back. All it took was one slip, one bad fall, one cracked skull.

  


He’d fallen like this before, Bruce and him together, and there had always been strong hands grabbing him at the last moment, curling around his small body and clutching him close, keeping him safe and shielding, taking the brunt of the force when they hit the ground. 

  


There were no strong hands this time, but Dick did the best he could with his own shaking ones, pulling Bruce flush against him and controlling their landing just enough that Bruce didn’t go down head first, that Dick’s feet his before anything.  

  


He tried to roll out of it, but the weight of another grown man threw him off, and before he even dove into it he felt something in his leg  _ snap _ under the pressure.  He crumpled to the ground, dropping Bruce in the surprise and skidding against the pavement like a lost tire.  He hit, skidded to a stop, and only took a second to catch his breath. 

  


Bruce’s pained breath had him moving again, scrambling on hands and knees to where Bruce had landed, looking him over with shaking hands and panicked eyes, pain ignored in his panic. 

  


“Red, we’re gonna-” he felt something like vomit rise up in his throat, swallowed hard, tried again.  He blinked, and tears got caught up under his mask. He pulled it off and rubbed them away, ignoring countless lectures about secret identities and professionalism on the field. “We need a ride out of here,” he called in, not recognizing his own voice and not hearing Tim’s response.  Bruce’s eyes were closed, his heart beating and chest moving, but otherwise unresponsive. Dick pushed at him, shook his shoulder, slapped him. 

  


He didn’t realize he was shouting until Alfred’s hands were on his shoulders, pulling him away and settling him with quiet reassurances.  His throat ached. His breath was coming too fast. 

  


“In with the good, out with the bad,” Alfred said, one hand pressed to the middle of Dick’s chest, the other pressed between his shoulder blades.  “Now is not the ideal time for a panic attack.” 

  


“Sorry, A,” Dick choked out, barely above a whisper. Bruce’s eyes were open, staring listlessly at the sky above them.  It wasn’t cold out, but he was shivering. Dick was burning up. His entire body shook with tremors. “Red….” he got lost around the words, tongue too heavy.  He swallowed again. “Red is. He’s sending the car. Or. Or something. I don’t.” 

  


“You’ve done all you need to,” Alfred said, voice calm and assured as he checked Bruce over with the kind of medical steadiness that suggested total apathy.  It was times like this that Dick remembered Alfred’s past, his time spent in the military, his years training as an actor. 

  


Was this acting, or was it military precision?  Was there a difference? Did it really matter?

  


He didn’t know what happened after that, just knew that his body must have been moving without him and taking him through the motions.  He blinked, and he was in the batmobile. Blinked at Bruce walked out of the medbay, a stab of pain shooting up Dick’s leg as Alfred checked over his ankle.  Blinked and he was speaking, telling Alfred that everything was okay, go to bed for the night. Problems seemed smaller in the morning. He’d handle it.

  


Blinked, and Damian was there, and Dick was explaining that there had been an accident, waving off Damian’s comments about not going on patrol that night, about Grayson acting weird.  Blinked, and he was standing in the hallway, hours passed, Jason just stormed out the front door, Tim staring at him like he might shake apart at any moment. 

  


“Maybe sleep in my room instead,” he said cautiously.  “Are you okay?” 

  


“I need to check on Damian,” Dick replied, reality rushing back to him and making his head spin.  His lungs filled with air, and it felt like the first breath he’d taken all evening. 

  


“He’s asleep, I just checked.  You’ve been standing here for the past five minutes.” He spoke slowly, as if Dick was going to bolt at a moment’s notice.  

  


He blinked, eyelids heavy and hard to open.  “Really?” 

  


Tim nodded, held a hand out.  He wasn’t holding the gun anymore.  “Come on,” he said. 

  


Dick glanced at his hand, at the door to Bruce’s room.  “I’m thinking about sleeping in the hallway,” he confessed.  Tim scoffed, rolled his eyes, looked so fucking much like Damian. 

  


“Babs hacked our system and has it set to go off if he steps foot out of that room,” Tim said, “Window included.  She’s keeping watch, probably has cameras and everything. Just come to bed.” 

  


“But-” 

  


“Don’t make me get Alfred.” 

  


With all that had happened that night, the weight of that threat was daunting.  Dick found himself nodding. Blinked. Took a step. He forgot about the state of his ankle for just a moment, long enough to put weight on it and almost collapse.  Tim was there in a flash, hauling Dick’s arm over his shoulders and taking his weight. 

  


“One step at a time,” he said.  “Come on. You don’t have to do anything else.  It’s okay.” 

  
  


\--------

  
  


“So….” Duke plucked at the suit at the back of his neck, shifted from foot to foot.  His body language was nervous and uncertain. Dick knew he was being an asshole, glaring him down through the cowl and staying quiet, not giving the guy a bone.  He knew Duke deserved better, knew that he was supposed to be holding it together, keeping everyone’s spirits high, making sure everyone knew it was okay. 

He was just so tired.  So sick of lying to himself.  His joints were packed with salt and his head weighed fifty pounds.  He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up. 

  


“So yeah, you look like hell, man.” 

  


“Look like it, feel like it,” Dick agreed, and immediately regretted it.  He sighed, dropped his head into his hands, and took a few deep breaths. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.  Everything’s fine.” 

  


“You haven’t been eating,” Duke said, and then there was the noise of footsteps, of fabric shifting.  Duke settled down next to him on the fire escape he was occupying. “Here, hungry?” 

  


“Thanks,” Dick said, taking the hamburger that was held out to him. 

  


“So he’s….” 

  


“Somewhere,” Dick filled in. “In some hotel, somewhere in Gotham.  I’m sure Babs and Tim know. Alfred too, probably. I didn’t ask.” 

  


“And you’re…?”   
  


“I’m  _ fine _ .”  The words were too tense for them to be honest, and Duke hummed knowingly.  

  


“Steph said you were there,” he said.  Dick unwrapped his dinner, took a malicious bite of his hamburger. 

  


“This family is full of gossips.” 

  


“You sound like Jason.” 

  


“I  _ feel _ like Jason.” 

  


“You’re allowed to, y’know,” Duke said, voice suggesting something that Dick wouldn’t allow himself to imagine.  “You can take a break, take some time, whatever. You have back up.” 

  


“I can’t shut down, not with Bruce going off the deep end.” 

  


“You already  _ have _ .  You think nobody else has noticed?  You’re not okay, dude. Maybe you should talk about it.” 

  


Dick picked off a piece of his bun and tossed it into the night, watched it quickly disappear into the shadows.  “Talk about what? How Damian is devastated and furious that Selina would leave, how nobody has the heart to tell him that Bruce threw himself off a fucking building, that he’s probably half-way to figuring it out anyways.  That Alfred isn’t even smiling anymore, and Tim is walking on eggshells, and if Jason shows his face in the next six months it’ll be a God damned  _ miracle _ .  And Cass is the only one who seems unaffected, but that’s just as worrisome, and I feel like I’m losing my damn mind because I can’t understand why he would  _ do this to me.”  _

  


Dick’s words dried up in his mouth and Duke’s eyes widened.  Dick shook his head, looked away, corrected himself. “Do this to us,” he said.  He cleared his throat. “To the family. It’s just… Selina isn’t the only person who cares about him.”

  


“Easy to feel betrayed,” Duke said, nodding.  Dick wrapped his sandwich back up and dropped it in his lap.  

  


“I don’t know how to come back from this,” he said. 

  


Duke nodded again, slowly.  He bumped his shoulder against Dick’s.  “Build up to it. Think of it like, uh… like a trapeze metaphor.”  

  


Dick leveled him with a flat expression, and Duke just chuckled.  “Start small, one step at a time. Learn the little jumps before trying big ones.  You already have a safety net.

  


“I know this is hard for the boss to remember, but you’re not in this alone.  You might be dressed like him, but you don’t have to buy into that bullshit. You have people here to pick up the slack.” 

  


“A safety net,” Dick repeated, some of the weight lifting off his chest.  

  


“Exactly.”  Duke clapped him on the shoulder, took his barely touched sandwich from him and tossed it in the direction of a dumpster far below.  “Oh, and Alfred says you’re grounded. Says you’ll be sorry if he catches you walking on that broken ankle.” 

  


The change in conversation was enough to leave Dick floundering.  “I’m a grown adult!” he protested. “He can’t ground me.” Duke raised an eyebrow that said both of them knew that wasn’t true.  Dick sighed, feeling all the better for it, and followed the Signal down the fire escape and towards the bike waiting below. 

  


“Race you home,” Duke said, and Dick couldn’t help the grin that appeared on his face. 

  


“You’re on,” he replied.

  
  


\--------

  
  
  


The manor was quiet that night, Damian shooed off to bed for the night by Alfred, everyone else crashing in various safe houses and apartments across Gotham.  Titus snored in the front hall, and Alfred emerged in his night robe and slippers when they slipped out of the batcave and into the manor. 

  


“There’s dinner in the fridge if you’re hungry,” he said, then came over and fussed over Dick, feeling at his forehead and pushing his hair back, touching gently at his shoulder and tutting about wearing a sling,  _ for your own sake _ , _ young man _ . 

  


“Get some proper rest tonight,” he said, and Dick found himself lying in bed in his childhood room, Alfred the cat lurking about and making noise, breaking the silence.  Dick was grateful for it, feeling quite smothered by his own ceiling as he laid prone and staring at it. 

  


He thought of Bruce, alone somewhere in a hotel room.  He thought of Selina, wherever the hell she’d disappeared to.  He thought of his family, how they’d caught him and kept him, and how he’d nearly fallen trying to do the same for Bruce. 

  


Alfred was right, he just needed some rest.  He’d tackle his problems in the morning, when they were easier to handle.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you have feelings about Batman? Or anything, really. Keep me company in the comments! Or at punks-n-rec.tumblr.com


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